


News Flash

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Once More Into the Breach [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, BACK TO MORE OHFAT PEOPLE, BAMF Felicity Smoak, Canonical Character Death, Drift Bond, Drift Compatibility, F/M, Ghost Drifting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jaeger Pilots, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon 2018, Oliver Queen Has PTSD, One Shot, POV Felicity Smoak, POV Oliver Queen, Pan Pacific Defense Corps, Paparazzi, Past Character Death, Press and Tabloids, Prompt Fill, Slow Burn, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Oliver and Felicity deal with the revelation of their Drift ability.Takes place between Chapters 6 and 7 ofThe Edge of Hope.Written for TheBookJumper's Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon 2018.  Prompt:  revelation.





	News Flash

**Author's Note:**

> OHFAT IS BACK I'M SO EXCITED. This universe worked well for a fresh start for last year's OHFAT, so I decided to come back to it. :P
> 
> I know, I'm cutting it down to the wire for the OHFAT prompt, but I've worked 55 hours this week while sick, so it's been a crunch getting this in.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and any comments are appreciated! :)
> 
> 06-22-2018 Update: Fixed a ton of typos. Sorry the original looked so horrible.

The sound of the metal door slamming startles Oliver awake. He squints at the door, trying to make out his visitor, but the door is already shut by the time his eyes focus. He wishes he had his bow as he tenses for a fight, but then he remembers the knife on the nightstand next to his bed. He can work with that.

As he hears the feet shuffling against the floor, Oliver releases his hold on the knife. He’d recognize that gait anywhere. With a frown, he turns to his clock and groans when he sees the time. He closes his eyes again, rolling onto his back as he throws an arm over his face. “Felicity,” he growls in a raspy voice, “why are you up at four-thirty in the morning?”

Her feet shuffle closer, just before the mattress dips under her weight. Felicity shifts several times, until her knee brushes against her shoulder. A faint light manages to make it through his eyelids before he feels her arm move. Of course she has her tablet.

“I just downloaded the latest news report,” Felicity explains. “The notification woke me up, and after I read it, I couldn’t sleep.” She shakes his arm, and Oliver doesn’t recoil at her touch. Maybe it’s because their minds are intertwined so much that she’s a part of him now. “You need to read it.”

He turns over and opens one eye, mostly due to the alarm seeping into his mind through their connection. Whatever it is, it has her concerned, and Felicity doesn’t panic lightly—usually, she’s the one calming _his_ panic. The glow of the tablet illuminates her features enough for Oliver to notice her uncharacteristic frown, made more severe by the dark bruises under her eyes from her broken nose. After he dragged her to Medical yesterday, she managed to sit still long enough for them to tape it in place, before jumping right back into repairs on the Green Arrow.

The fatigue of yesterday is finally starting to show on her features. After his eyes adjust to the low light, he can see the way her shoulders sag and her eyelids droop. Despite her exhaustion, here she is, pushing harder to stay awake and talk to him about something that has her concerned. After they talk about it, maybe he’ll drag her back to her bed and spend his night on the floor in front of it. That way, he can make sure she falls asleep.

When he twists to sit up, he finally notices that she’s still wearing pajamas, her feet bare and hair falling wildly in strange directions. It might be the only time he’s ever seen her without her fuchsia lipstick, and there’s something strangely domestic about it. He clears the thought from his head by focusing on the design on her pajama pants—covered in cartoon Jaegers.

He can’t hide a smile when he notices the Green Arrow among them.

Oliver sighs as he twists over on his side. He tries to study the screen, but the tablet is too bright and his eyes are too tired. When he closes them again, it feels like someone lined his eyelids with sandpaper. “Read it to me,” he demands.

Felicity swallows hard at his gravelly tone, and he frowns. He _never_ talks to her like that, and the idea of hurting her feelings is too much to bear. It isn’t her fault that he finally fell asleep fifteen minutes ago. “I’m sorry,” he says a moment later. “I didn’t mean to talk to you like that.”

“I know,” she assures him. Maybe she can feel his guilt through their connection. “I’m sorry I woke you up so early. I just didn’t think—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. Eventually, she pats his shoulder. “Get some rest, Oliver. We can talk about it in the morning.”

As she rises from the bed, Oliver catches her wrist. She freezes immediately. “Please stay,” he says to her in a quiet tone, his voice far more needy than he’d like. “I don’t want you up all night worrying about this.”

When he releases his grip on her, Felicity resituates herself in the bed. This time, she lies flat on her back, holding up her tablet with one hand. She tilts it in Oliver’s direction.

Squinting, Oliver leans in, trying a second time to see the screen. It’s no use; his tired eyes won’t focus. Instead, he drops his head on Felicity’s shoulder, causing her to stutter out a breath. He drops the question he was going to ask in favor of another. “Is this okay?”

“Sure,” Felicity replies, her voice an octave higher than normal. “It’s okay. More than okay. It’s fine. Nice, even.” Her mind turns into a chaotic whirl of thoughts that makes his head start to hurt. “You just surprised me a little.”

He nestles his head against her shoulder until he’s comfortable, closing his eyes with a yawn. It’s strange how this doesn’t seem intimate to him; after sharing their minds, he often feels like they don’t have any boundaries. “I can’t get my eyes to focus,” he tells her, his tone softer this time. “Can you please read it to me?”

Her eye roll is almost audible. “Do you even have to ask?” she replies, before launching into the story. “‘An amazing sight took place in Starling City today.’” Felicity scoffs. “Linda Park is always so dramatic in her articles. I mean, she’s a good reporter—unbiased—but she’s also a drama queen.” Oliver makes a face, and she clears her throat. “Right. Article. Enough color commentary.

“‘I am not discussing the the fact that _two_ Category Four Kaiju emerged from the Drift last night, or the fact that both were defeated by the same Jaeger in the streets of the Glades without any assistance. What this reporter witnessed was more surprising than either of those things: the Green Arrow is functional again.

“‘Designed by Felicity Smoak, who is often called the mother of the modern Drift—’” Felicity releases a breath. “Oh. Well, that’s nice. No one ever remembers my name, much less says nice things about me.”

Oliver can feel her hair tickle across his face as she shakes her head. “Anyway. ‘…often called the mother of the modern Drift, the Green Arrow, is, arguably, the most successful Jaeger in history. Originally piloted by Oliver Queen and Thomas Merlyn’”—she hesitates only slightly on Tommy’s name—“‘the Green Arrow already has quite a legacy behind it: thirty-six kills, fifteen assists, and a one hundred percent mission completion rate. Merlyn was killed in combat with Knifehead in 2013, and Queen completed the mission in solo-Drift. He left the Ranger Corps shortly afterward. It seemed clear that the Green Arrow would never ride again.

“‘Video shot on the scene with a cell phone confirms that the Green Arrow is back in action,’” Felicity continues reading. “‘Who is piloting the legendary Jaeger, however, still remains a mystery. John Diggle, Marshal of the Starling City Shatterdome, has refused to comment. Sources within the Shatterdome indicate that Oliver Queen returned three months ago, but his position there is still unknown.’”

Oliver tenses; from experience, he knows that once the press starts digging into his life, they won’t stop. He was hoping it would take longer before they discovered he was back. If they know, it’s only a matter of time before there’s a massive paparazzi presence following his every move. If that happens—

The spiral of his thoughts stops the moment Felicity slips her fingers through his and squeezes his hand. Something about her touch makes her calming effect that much stronger, allows him to feel more of the pressure of her mind against his. It’s a subtle message: _You don’t have to face them alone._

They sit in silence for a few minutes before she finishes reading the article: “‘With Queen in the Shatterdome again, this reporter is prepared to assume he’s back in the cockpit. Whether it’s Queen or not, one thing is certain: a new set of pilots are in the Shatterdome.’”

“This is going to be a media frenzy,” Oliver finally says in a quiet voice.

Felicity props up against the wall somewhat, nodding. The motion makes Oliver open his eyes, putting him at eye level with her pajama top for the first time. All fifty-four Jaegers are printed in a cartoon style like on her pants, but the printed words make him smile: _It’s not a machine. It’s a legacy._ He’s never appreciated her more.

She makes a noise of disagreement in her throat. “No, that’s too nice a phrase,” Felicity replies as Oliver settles his head against her stomach. She curls her arm around him, her fingers drawing patterns into the back of his shoulder. “It’s going to be a _shitstorm_ , Oliver. The media is curious. That would be bad enough, but Diggle isn’t commenting on the return of the Green Arrow. We’re going to be in the spotlight, and this is going to be a massive revelation. It won’t be easy.”

Though she’s too polite to say it, Oliver can read between the lines: she’s concerned about how he’ll handle the publicity. After all, the last time he had any notoriety, it was because of Tommy’s death. At that time, he was facing the press alone, and everyone reminded him of the worst moments of his life.

This time, though, it isn’t him against the world. Now, he has Felicity to help him through it.

In a way, having her inside his head is a relief; his tendency to keep secrets is pointless when it comes to Felicity. There’s no point hiding from her because of their neural link, and it’s almost freeing in a way.

Just as he comes to the same conclusion, Felicity says, “We’ll get through it together, though.”

She frowns, reaching across her body to run her thumb across the skin under his eyes. “Your eyes are so dark that it’s hard to tell which of us has the broken nose,” she declares. He breathes a laugh at her statement. “How long has it been since you slept?” Felicity asks in a quiet voice. “And I don’t mean a thirty-minute nap here and there.”

There’s no reproach in her tone, only concern. Felicity is gentle in her questioning, and Oliver knows she isn’t really expecting an answer. Sometimes it surprises him how much she seems to care. It’s been a long time since anyone has.

As much as he’d like to comfort her with a lie, there’s no point in trying. She’ll know before the words leave his mouth. “I don’t know,” Oliver admits in a tone just as soft as hers. “Maybe thirty-six hours?” The one thing he’s certain of is that it’s been far longer than that, but there’s no need to concern her more than he has to.

Felicity sighs anyway, the corners of her mouth falling. When her brow furrows, Oliver resists the urge to smooth it out with his fingers. “Oh, Oliver,” she barely breathes, “what am I going to do with you?” She strokes his cheek. “I watched my two-year-old cousin when I was younger. He was a terror, and you’re _still_ more stressful than him.” After a moment of indecision, she presses her lips to his forehead. “Get some rest—you’ve earned it.”

She moves to leave, but Oliver reaches out for her. Strange how his bed is already colder without her. “Stay?” he asks, his voice little more than a whisper. Only nightmares will face him when he tries to sleep again, and Felicity’s presence has always been soothing.

Though she can’t have heard him, Felicity must read the question through their Ghost. She slides her tablet onto his nightstand, sliding under the covers at the edge of his bed without a word. Instead of offering encouragement, she offers only her gentle presence.

That’s all Oliver needs.

He smiles as his eyelids start to turn heavy again. Through their link, he can feel her serene sense of calm. No doubt she’s thinking of Jaegers and modifications. It’s soothing to feel her mind whirl so close to him—it’s always a relief to have company in his head. Overwhelmed by her kindness, he whispers, “Thank you.”

She snorts. “You aren’t allowed to thank me for being a decent human being, Oliver.”

 

* * *

 

If there’s one thing Felicity hates, it’s a dog and pony show for the press. There are a million things she could be doing in the Shatterdome right now, instead of standing in full Pan-Pacific Defense Corps uniform and pretending to be excited about it. Sleeping with— She shakes her head; she refuses to go down that particular rabbit hole. _Sharing a bed_ with Oliver immediately comes to mind. She’s never seen him as vulnerable as he was last night. As much as she wanted to wrap her arms around him and remind him that he isn’t alone, the moment she did, Felicity knew he’d shut down.

Exactly the way he has now.

It’s almost unnerving the way he can stand at attention with that blank expression. Felicity doesn’t understand how the hell he does it. The black uniform is scratchy and stiff. She has to pull at her skirt every minutes, and her black heels must have been selected by someone who has never worn heels in their life. They’re the most uncomfortable deathtraps she’s ever walked in.

Even in full regalia, though, Felicity doesn’t manage to look like a professional Ranger. Her hair might be up in a severe bun, but the bright colors through it detract from that. Her industrial piercing is visible, a neon pink bar through one ear. It only manages to make her look like she’s playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes.

Felicity makes a face at the scene starting beyond the curtain at the side of the stage, but scrunching up her nose only makes things worse. Pain shoots into her eyes and forehead. Gently, she presses her fingers to the splint across her nose. Damn it, she’ll be glad when it finishes healing. Breaking her nose hurt, but waiting for it to heal is just _annoying_.

Sighing, she runs her hand down her skirt and shifts her weight, glaring at Oliver’s uniform pants and shiny loafers. At least the _male_ PPDC members get the luxury of pants, but meanwhile she’s stuck in an unforgiving pencil skirt.

Despite that, Felicity has to admit she’s grateful for the view; Oliver wears the hell out of a uniform. If they put him on a few recruiting posters, they wouldn’t be experiencing a drop in numbers. He looks a little defiant with his unshaven jaw, but he’s still eye candy and the best part of her day so far.

Even though she knows he doesn’t judge her, the direction of her thoughts makes her turn her attention to her shoes. The next time they Drift, he’s going to know her thoughts. She shouldn’t be objectifying her best friend—even if he’s incredibly eye-pleasing. Instead, she turns her attention to her fingernails, painted a turquoise as bright as the streaks in her hair. She taps her index finger against her thigh while staring out at John, who is starting a speech for the audience on the stage.

“Stop,” Oliver demands suddenly, moving to lean against a column, staring out at Diggle on the stage. For a moment, Felicity isn’t even sure if he’s speaking to her, but then his eyes flick over to her. “You’re nervous,” he clarifies, unnecessarily. It’s not like she needs his insight to know that. The corner of his mouth lifts in one of those shy smiles he likes to throw at her, subtle and secretive. “You’re making me nervous, too.”

“Then you should have picked a better partner,” Felicity counters with a shrug. Oliver laughs, shaking his head. She adjusts the black tie under her jacket before ensuring her pin with _F. Smoak_ on it is straight. Oliver’s jacket is decorated with medals and bars, but the only pins on Felicity’s chest are for J-Tech and piloting.

“I already have the best,” Oliver replies. “I have you.”

For the first time since donning her stupid, sexist getup, Felicity smiles. “Don’t butter me up, Queen,” she teases in a hard tone. When his smile widens, she thinks again how glad she is that she met Oliver Queen. Somehow, he’s become her best friend.

She smiles back, but it’s cut short by the pain in her broken nose. When Oliver frowns in concern, Felicity explains, “The worst part of the fight was being forced into Medical afterward.” She throws him a pointed look; he barely waited for her to change out of her Drivesuit before dragging her to Medical.

“Caitlin isn’t so bad,” a new voice interjects into the conversation. Felicity turns to see Sara in all her military glory, right down to—

“Hey, no fair!” Felicity cries, pointing to Sara’s black trousers. “Why are _you_ wearing pants instead of a scratchy, tight skirt?” Behind Sara, Nyssa is in the same, but at least Laurel and Isabel are in the stupid, evil skirts. “At least you still have to wear the heels. Tell me your secrets, oh great one.”

Sara winks. “It’s all about the approach,” she answers cryptically. “I told the uniform lady that I’d go naked before I wore one of those skirts. After a few moments, she sighed and fitted me for pants instead.” She leans over and kisses Felicity’s cheek. While it doesn’t bother _Felicity_ , she can feel a sudden rush of tension in the back of Oliver’s mind. “But don’t worry. You still look cute. Like someone put a military uniform on Cyberpunk Barbie.”

Felicity’s eyes narrow as Oliver raises an eyebrow. Before Felicity can speak, Oliver warns, “You might want to rethink that statement, Sara. Felicity hacked into the Pentagon when she was twelve.” He crosses his arms, and Felicity notes a few wide eyes in their little group. “She is capable of raining digital fire down on you when she’s angry.”

Laurel laughs in the back, but Felicity can tell through their Ghost that he’s serious. It makes her smile; she wouldn’t have thought that Oliver I’ve-battled-over-a-hundred-Kaiju Queen would ever say something like that, but the respect bleeds through his tone.

Before she can thank him for that, Felicity watches Laurel, pull on the hem of her skirt. Amazing how she looks like a model, even in uniform hell. She and Oliver would make a great team on the PPDC recruiting poster—if they could refrain from killing each other.

Funny how the idea of them together leaves a bitter taste in Felicity’s mouth. Oliver throws her a strange look, which she tries to ignore. There’s no way she’s going to try and explain it to him when she can’t yet explain it to herself.

Oblivious, Laurel declares, “I’ve been in this uniform for five minutes, and I’m already looking forward to changing out of it.”

When Felicity murmurs her assent in a quiet tone, Oliver glances down at her with a lifted eyebrow. To placate him, she adds, “The only thing that makes this freak parade worth it is the fact that we’ll have three glorious days of leave afterward.” With the awards ceremony on a Thursday, they won’t have to be back to base until Sunday evening.

A snort comes from behind her, and it’s Felicity’s turn to lift an eyebrow at her partner. “You’ll be back by Saturday morning,” he responds in a dry tone. “You won’t be able to last that long without working on your Jaeger designs.”

“And you’ll be downstairs battling the punching bag,” Felicity counters.

“I’m not leaving,” Oliver replies. He lifts a shoulder. “Nowhere to go.” Felicity opens her mouth to remind him that he could visit his mom and— Oh, yeah. She’s forgotten they aren’t a normal family—and that his mother is the Wicked Witch of the Shatterdome. “I promised Thea we’d spend some time together, though.” He smiles. “She wants to watch a movie and practice sparring.”

Felicity smiles; Oliver’s love for his sister is always written in every feature of his face. It’s a nice look for a man who always seems so morose. “Save some popcorn for me,” is her reply.

Before any of them say more, John calls the members of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps onto the stage. The chairs are set up on the right side of the stage, and Felicity and Oliver linger toward the back of the fifty or so members of the Starling City Shatterdome. Felicity’s seat ends up at the end of an aisle, but she subtly slides behind Oliver so that he can take it instead. If they have to be packed in like sardines, the least she can do is give him the spot with the easiest getaway.

“Today marks the tenth anniversary of the first Kaiju attack on Starling City,” John states in a monotone. Felicity wonders if he’s as bored as she is. “For the last ten years, we have survived in spite of the Kaiju. For the last eight, men and women have given their lives in the line of duty to defend this city—some as technicians, some as coordinators, some as pilots. Right now, forty-six people work tirelessly to keep this city safe. That is why we take today to honor them.”

“No, we do that because Moira Queen demands it,” Felicity mutters under her breath, surveying the rest of the group. Everyone looks uncomfortable in their uniforms; Barry pulls on his collar in the front row and Caitlin crosses her legs stiffly in front of them.

When Oliver throws her a look, Felicity shrugs. “What? It’s true.”

“At least _try_ to be nice,” Oliver whispers back to her.

Rolling her eyes, Felicity settles as best she can in the metal folding chair, listening as John drones on about duty, valor, and the desire to help others. It would be a great speech if he wasn’t handing out awards the whole time. Sure, the Ranger Corps does good work, but Felicity has no time for anyone who does it for the shiny medals. This is about saving humanity from destruction, and this flamboyant display mostly pisses her off.

“Stop,” Oliver growls under his breath, reaching down to squeeze her hand. It takes Felicity a moment to realize his other hand is clenched by his side and his jaw is tight. She always seems to forget that her anger fuels his, too. “I don’t like it, either, but this is part of our duties.” His eyes flick to Moira Queen, who stands to Digg’s left. “The worst part.”

Felicity snorts as John continues, “And last, we present the highest honor a Jaeger pilot can receive: the Jaeger Superior Defense medal.”

“So much of an honor that you have _four_ of them,” Felicity mutters to Oliver under her breath, nudging his shoulder. He tries his best to keep staring ahead and ignore her, but the corner of his mouth lifts up. “If you weren’t such a badass pilot, I’d say it was nepotism at work.”

“I’ve had good partners,” Oliver replies evenly. Sometimes it surprises Felicity how modest he is. Worse, she thinks he actually _believes_ that. it’s sad in a way: he doesn’t recognize his own worth. Maybe Felicity will just tell him that until he starts to believe her.

“But you’re _my_ partner,” Felicity insists—as much as she can insist in a whisper. “I only work with the best, Oliver, so you have to be pretty good yourself.” It does the job: Oliver smiles, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to Diggle’s speech.

“Every year, this award is given to two Jaeger pilots who have gone above and beyond the call of duty,” John is saying. Felicity frowns; she must have missed the part about the history of the medal. Not that she’s complaining—after the first three times, of hearing it, she practically had it memorized. “Every year, we award our highest honor to these pilots who have put their lives on the line to keep Starling City safe.

“This year, it is my honor to award it to the two pilots who shouldn’t be able to Drift at all,” Diggle declares. A hush washes over the room as Felicity and Oliver share a grimace; there’s only one set of pilots Digg can be talking about. This revelation is going to rock not just the PPDC, but the _world_. “The two of them couldn’t be more different, but they managed one of the highest alignment percentages in our Shatterdome’s history.”

Diggle glances over at the two of them before nodding once. “While that is an achievement of its own, these two pilots managed to pilot the Green Arrow together in the field, without the successful completion of a trial run.” A low murmur of excitement ripples through the crowd; they’ve been begging to know about the Green Arrow’s return, and John is going to give it to them now. Felicity sighs; she was just starting to _like_ her anonymity as a pilot.

“When the other three Jaegers were offline,” Diggle continues, “these two pilots took up arms against two Category Four Kaiju. They managed to stop both of them without any assistance—all at great risk to themselves. They represent the best of our Rangers, and I am honored to present the Green Arrow’s pilots with the Jaeger Superior Defense Medal.” He pauses. “On behalf of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, I present it to Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak.”

The audience goes silent for a moment, but the instant the two of them stand up, there’s a roar to life from the press. Cameras flash as a sudden barrage of questions comes from reporters. Felicity pretends to ignore as she takes the leather box from Diggle with a handshake. Oliver’s expression is impassive, but she can feel his… twitchiness at the back of her mind. He wants to run, and Felicity can’t blame him.

They might have signed up to pilot a Jaeger, but they sure as hell didn’t sign up for _this_.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Once John dismisses them, Felicity slips her hand around Oliver’s, pulling him backstage as quickly as possible. She’d ask him how he was feeling, but she knows he’d only insist he was fine. Instead, she reaches against their Ghost: a little rattled, but not yet on the verge of a panic attack.

After they leave the stage, Oliver pulls away from her grip, only to slip his trembling hand into hers. A breath stutters out of her lips, but soon she’s pulling him toward the duffel bags they packed. His expression is vacant as he follows her, trapped in his own thoughts and barely paying attention in a rare display of trust. Having been in his head, Felicity knows that trust isn’t something that comes easy for Oliver.

Yet he’s found it in himself to trust her.

When she leads him into the storage room, Felicity throws him a duffel. He catches it just before it collides with his face. It’s only then that he suggests, “We need to leave before the media catches up with us.”

Sara slides in the door next, followed by Laurel and Nyssa. Felicity finds it interesting that, even now, the pilots all choose to stick together; even Isabel, Lance, and Hilton follow a moment later. She’s never seen that kind of camaraderie in K-Science or even her beloved J-Tech.

“Too late,” Sara answers Oliver’s statement as she scrambles for her own bag. Felicity slams her prestigious medal into her own duffel. Why won’t the press leave Oliver alone? Hasn’t he suffered enough. “It’s a shitstorm out there, Ollie,” Sara continues. “Digg is trying to buy you time, but they’re already lining up at the exits.”

Felicity sighs as she stuffs her jacket and tie into her bag, starting to unbutton her white blouse underneath. After changing in and out of Drivesuits in close quarters, there’s no sense of modesty in the room. It’s an unspoken agreement that everyone keeps their eyes averted, but Felicity really doesn’t give a damn either way. Lance and Hilton always turn their backs to the women in the room, and if Oliver gets an eyeful, it doesn’t really matter. He’s been her head; he’s seen her body through her eyes, and she through his.

In some ways, it’s liberating to have one person in the world who carries all of her secrets.

“I picked a really great day to hail a cab,” Felicity notes in a sardonic tone as she steps out of her heels. Somehow she manages not to cry in relief. “I was supposed to meet my mother, and we were supposed to enjoy my long weekend away from base.” She sighs. “It sucks not owning a car.”

“Felicity, I have a bike outside,” Oliver replies. She has to refrain from sticking her tongue out at his tone—the one that serves as the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “I could take you.”

This time, she’s the one rolling her eyes—and at least she has the good grace to keep it out of her tone. “While that’s sweet of you, Oliver, you are not my personal taxi service,” she insists, shoving her skirt into her bag. Her heels follow next, glad to be shed of those torture devices. “And honestly? I’m not sure you’d survive the Glades.”

“Hey,” he calls. Felicity stops halfway through pulling on her black, faux leather pants to look at him. When she does, it’s to find his eyes making a lazy path from her turquoise toenails to her gaze. Something she’s never seen enters his expression, and his voice is rough when he says, “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, Felicity.” There’s a promise buried in there somewhere, and it brings a smile to her lips.

Sara whistles, making both Felicity and Oliver jump. “Sounds like you have a VIP ticket for _that_ ride,” she calls over her shoulder. When Felicity glances over to glare at her, she’s met with a salacious wink.

Oliver’s cheeks turn red. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sara,” he mutters as he steps into his jeans.

“Leave him alone, Sara,” Felicity remarks. “He inherited my gift for accidental innuendos through the Drift.”

Zipping his jeans, Oliver turns to her with a shy smile. “I still don’t know what you’re saying about Jaegers half the time, but I’ve picked _that_ up.” He shakes his head. “Of all the useful things in your head, it’s your gift for innuendo that _I_ get.”

Felicity shrugs with a smile. “Seems like you’ve gotten my luck, too.”

Instead of responding, Oliver chooses to throw her something. Felicity catches it with ease. “I barely turned in the order in time, but I thought you’d want one. I hope the color is okay.” She frowns, examining the fuchsia fabric through the clear, plastic packaging. She pulls it open, and when she holds up the shirt, Felicity’s breath leaves her. Oliver smiles. “Congratulations, Ranger.”

It takes her a moment to realize that this is actually real. The PPDC logo is emblazoned over the left pectoral in black, circled by the words, _Starling City Ranger Corps_ , with the year printed underneath. When she turns it around, the design on the back is a spinal clamp, the top designed to look as though it’s bolted into a Drivesuit. There are wings on the clamp, and a ribbon circles it four times with the words, _Fortune Favors the Brave_. On either side at the top, the names of all four Starling Shatterdome Jaegers are printed, and Felicity is stunned to see _F Smoak - Green Arrow_ listed right under _O Queen - Green Arrow_. She’d forgotten about this tradition of Jaeger pilots having shirts printed every year in a show of solidarity.

Oliver had made certain she was included.

She pulls it over her head immediately, unsurprised when it fits perfectly. A second later, she wraps her arms around his neck. His arms go around her a heartbeat later, and she grins into his shoulder. They might think he’s cold and detached, but Felicity knows that, under his hard exterior, Oliver is completely… _gooey_ on the inside: full of loyalty, compassion, and love.

When she pulls back, she cups his cheek. “Thanks, Oliver. You’re the best co-pilot I could ever ask for.”

He snorts as she releases her hair from its tight, no-nonsense bun. “I know at least four pilots who would disagree with you,” is his only answer.

His sense of self-worth is something she’ll have to work on, Felicity decides. Starting now. “They would be wrong,” is her only reply. He throws her another smile as he pulls on his shirt—a Ranger shirt like hers, except his is black with green print on it. Green Arrow colors, she realizes belatedly. Of course.

He drops onto a bench in the center of the room to put on his sneakers, and Felicity drags her rainbow-plaid high-tops over to join him, pulling her hair into a high ponytail. It’s starting to curl and frizz at the ends, thanks to her previous bun, so letting it hang isn’t really an option.

After both of them are dressed and say their goodbyes to the other pilots, they carry their duffels to the back door of the conference center, where a sleek, black motorbike is parked. Her eyes widen; most of the time, it’s easy to forget that Oliver has more money than he’d ever be able to spend, but now that fact comes crashing down upon her.

After he packs both of their duffels in the storage compartment, Oliver frowns. “Do you have a jacket?” he asks her.

Felicity glances down to her bare arms and back to his leather jacket. “Shit,” is what she manages as a reply.

Oliver only grins. “You know, it’s tradition for an older Ranger to give their younger co-pilot a present after their first Kaiju kill,” Oliver responds slowly. Felicity frowns; just because Oliver will never spend all his money doesn’t mean he should spend it on _her_.

He slips a package out of the out of the storage compartment, hastily wrapped in brown paper and tied with what she’s suspicious is an old, snapped bow string. Somehow that makes it that much better.

Shifting awkwardly in place, Oliver holds it out to her. “I was saving it for later, but…”

Too surprised to speak, Felicity takes the proffered package, untying the bow carefully. It falls apart swiftly, and her eyes widen at the jacket. It’s leather— _real_ leather, judging from the scent—printed with shining gold lines of circuitry and phrases of Oriental characters she doesn’t understand. When she holds it up to inspect it, there’s a familiar logo on the back. A nocked bow tilted so that the arrow is printed upward with wings on either side of it, the words _Green Arrow_ in a swooping cursive underneath.

“Oh, God,” is all that manages to come out of her mouth.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Just call me ‘Oliver,’” he teases, eyes sparkling.

“It’s…” When Felicity needs to stop talking, she can’t, but when she actually _needs_ words, they won’t come. Typical. “Wow. It’s… It’s just beautiful. Thank you.” She frowns. “But this is real leather—it must have cost you a fortune.”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he admits slowly. “The circuits on it, I mean. I found it in the markets near the base.” Oliver motions to it. “It was meant to be a pilot’s jacket, I think, but it didn’t have an emblem on the back.” He runs a hand over the fabric. “This is Japanese. The phrases are different, but they’re things like ‘we are humanity’s last hope’ and ‘we do the impossible with the unthinkable.’” He offers her a tentative, lopsided smile. “Every Ranger needs a pilot jacket.”

It fits like a glove when she pulls it on. Felicity stands a little straighter. Every morning when she wakes up, she has to tell herself that the Kaiju fight wasn’t just a cruel dream. Wearing a pilot jacket reminds her it was real—and makes her feel a little like a badass. “I wonder if this is how Superman felt when he put on a cape for the first time,” she mutters to herself.

Oliver’s laugh is cut short by cries of _Oliver!_ and _Felicity!_ They both turn just in time to watch reporters tearing through the alley. She rolls her eyes as she tosses the brown paper in the nearby dumpster, then stuffs the bow string into her pocket out of sentimentality.

By the time she slides onto the bike behind Oliver, he has already put on his helmet and is holding one out for her. She places it on her head, wincing when it catches on her broken nose, then wraps her arms around her favorite co-pilot.

The bike roars to life, and he speeds past the two or three reporters that have stumbled into the alleyway. It grows more complicated when he reaches the street. The pathway is congested with journalists, TV news personalities, and cameramen. Felicity closes her eyes against the glare of flashing cameras.

For the most part, it’s just a cacophony of voices, but every once in a while, a question reaches her ears. “Mr. Queen, why have you come back to the Shatterdome?” one asks.

“No comment,” Oliver answers, revving the bike.

A few reporters jump back, but the rest keep swarming like vultures. “Oliver, where have you been the last three years?” another calls.

“No comment,” he repeats, and Felicity winces at his tone. That’s the one he uses before beating the shit out of people in the ring. She makes a face; for a question that insensitive, she might just _watch_ Oliver punch out a few reporters.

One particularly obnoxious reporter yells, “Are you two sleeping together?”

Oliver’s head swivels toward the sound, and Felicity is suddenly filled with the strong desire to tackle the reporter—and maybe spend the next few minutes breaking his legs. She shakes her head before patting Oliver’s shoulder; she’s forgotten how hard his anger hits her. “Simmer down,” she warns, trying to inject some semblance of calm through their neural link.

“What part of ‘no comment’ do you _not_ understand?” he demands from the group.

His anger doesn’t deter them. “Some people are saying the Green Arrow’s return was just a hoax. What do you have to say about that?”

Felicity’s blood boils. How _dare_ they imply— “ _My_ Jaeger, a _publicity stunt?_ ” she demands, rising in her seat. “Over my dead body! The Green Arrow is a goddamn technological marvel, not the Loch Ness Monster!”

Oliver groans as he slides the bike forward a few more feet. The roar of voices only rises. “So much for ‘no comment,’” he quips. Felicity shrugs; she’s not going to let them insult her Jaeger. “Engaging the reporters only makes them worse.” That eye-roll tone is back in his voice again.

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to them insult my Jaeger,” Felicity replies with a huff. “She’s the best Jaeger on the planet, Oliver. She deserves better.” While she can’t hear him laugh over the din of voices, she can feel his chuckle pass through her. “It’s much nicer than just hearing it.”The worst that can happen is that they air footage of me swearing on national television."

“That’s what you think,” Oliver replies grimly.

As he inches the bike forward a few steps more, Felicity realizes the questions have taken a turn. Instead of being aimed at Oliver, now they’re asking for her. “Felicity, what makes you qualified to be a pilot?” She bites down on her lip to prevent saying something that might cause PR problems, like _Go screw yourself with a cactus_.

“Felicity, how can you pilot with Oliver?” another asks. Felicity just barely refrains from saying, _Because I’m amazing_ before self-preservation catches up with her. Anything she says now could also affect Oliver.

“Felicity, how do you manage your long hair?” a new voice asks, and he sounds about twelve. “What products do you use?”

“I wash it in the blood of my enemies,” she mutters in a dark tone.

Oliver lets out a strangled, high-pitched sound that can only be classified as a giggle.

He revs the motorbike again, this time louder. A few of them scatter and, while it doesn’t leave much room, it gives him the opening he needs. He slides the bike through the space and into traffic. His muscles relax under her grip, and Felicity finds herself releasing a breath she didn’t know she had held.

“If I had realized I had to deal with the press, I wouldn’t have become a pilot,” Felicity admits. She’s always had trouble with people, anyway. Machines are so much easier: they don’t lie, they don’t judge, and she doesn’t have to make banal small talk with them.

Another low rumble comes from Oliver’s chest, and Felicity is certain that alone is worth the sudden surge of publicity. “It’s not all bad,” he assures her. His voice softens as he makes a rare confession: “Tommy and I practically stayed drunk on the fame.” She pats his chest as a reply, but his tone returns to normal as he adds, “Kids recognize you on the street and call you a hero. People thank you for your service and your bravery. It makes you feel like you’re _helping_ in some way.”

Tilting her head, Felicity bites back a smile. It always strikes her at the strangest of times how much Oliver loves fighting Kaiju and being a pilot. The first time they talked about it, while watching repairs on the Green Arrow, he had made it seem like he found a high in the power, but now she knows that it’s the biggest lie he’s ever told her. For him, it’s all about being a part of something greater, of doing something _important_ with his life after never being expected to do anything.

It’s easily Felicity’s favorite thing about him: underneath all that pain and suffering and sorrow lies the heart of a hero.

His voice jolts her out of her thoughts. “Felicity, where do I need to drop you off?”

“I’m headed to the eight-thousand block of Mira,” she answers, “but you can drop me off wherever is convenient for you. I don’t want you to go out of your way for me.”

He doesn’t answer, instead sliding the bike across two lanes of traffic before leaning so low around a sharp curve that his shoe scratches along the concrete. She isn’t sure if the adrenaline rush that follows is hers or his, but she hasn’t felt this… _alive_ since the last time she was in a Jaeger. It does confirm a hunch, however: Oliver’s drug of choice is adrenaline.

Felicity is beginning to understand the appeal.

They lapse into silence as Oliver weaves in and out of traffic, slowing as little as possible. In some ways, it reminds her of the way he pilots a Jaeger: smooth, efficient, precise. Before she even realizes it, they’re turning toward the Glades. The crisp, new architecture of Starling starts to deteriorate with every passing block. Buildings with crumbling façades mix with leaning houses. Several men with long beards, backpacks, and dingy overcoats wander through the streets aimlessly.

It’s been at least two years since Felicity has been home, and it’s now she remembers why. In the Shatterdome, she can pretend that everyone is given three, hot meals a day and has a warm, comfortable place to sleep—that, by building Jaegers, she’s doing some good for the city. In the Glades, she’s just reminded that the world faces the same problems it did before. Only now, they also battle giant monsters emerging from a rift in the Pacific Ocean, too.

As Oliver flies around another corner, Felicity finally realizes where they are: Mira Street. As soon as they’re upright again, she smacks his shoulder. “Oliver, you didn’t have to bring me here,” she reminds him.

His visor turns toward her. “Did you really think I’d let you _walk_ through this neighborhood?” is his reply.

She rolls her eyes, even if he can’t see them. “Oliver, I don’t have a car,” she reminds him. “I walk through here all the time.” Maybe not after dark, but she still does during the day.

“Not anymore,” he demands in a flat tone.

Felicity’s eyebrows narrow. Usually this side of him is endearing. “You might be the other half of my brain,” she warns in a voice hard enough to cut through rock, “but that does _not_ give you the right to dictate what I do—or _don’t_ do. My life, my choice, Oliver.”

He sighs as though _she’s_ the one being difficult. Something about his posture makes her think that, if he didn’t have a helmet on, he’d be running a hand through his hair. “Felicity,” he breathes, and— God, how does he _do_ that? He manages to fit volumes in that tone—enough to complete a whole set of encyclopedias. “I’ve already survived the loss of three partners.” His voice breaks, and the shards of it cut her heart in half. “I’m not sure I could lose you, too.”

Guilt gnaws at her gut, but only part of it is her own. It’s taken a while to distinguish their emotions from one another, but Oliver’s guilt and self-flagellation is usually subtext in any conversation they have. This time it’s just a little closer to the surface.

“Hey, you’re not gonna lose me,” she assures him.

When her only answer is silence, Felicity realizes the flaw in her argument. After all, their work is dangerous, and they’re both lucky to have survived this long.

With new determination, Felicity closes her eyes, resting her helmet against his shoulder. Even though she can feel Oliver’s presence at the back of her mind, trying to touch it—to _really_ connect with him—still feels like finding a needle in a haystack. She probes across the edges of her mind for his consciousness, searching for the things she knows best: his warmth, his kindness, his sorry.

Finally she stumbles upon it. It feels so soft and fragile, like a soap bubble, but from experience, Felicity knows she has to fight to get through to him. She nudges his consciousness with her own—just enough to remind him she’s there—and her mind slides over his until they become one. Oliver tenses at the unexpected mental contact before relaxing with a sigh.

“You _can’t_ lose me,” Felicity clarifies, pulling away. “No matter what, I’ll always be with you in the Drift.”

The traffic light up ahead turns red, and Oliver takes a long, shaky breath. When his feet touch the ground to keep the bike upright, he takes one of her hands and places it over his heart. There’s a soft thrum of his strong heartbeat under her fingertips as he replies, “Thank you.” Felicity wonders if his voice burns with the sincerity in his tone. It says all the things he doesn’t: _Thank you for being my friend, for caring about me. It’s more than I deserve._

She squeezes his hand once before locking it around his middle again. The light turns green, and Felicity watches as the Glades fade into the fringes of the Slums with a sinking sense of dread. While the Glades may have seen some damage and destruction during the first Kaiju attacks, the Bone Slums are its epicenter.

The Bone Slums are something entirely other. While it’s beautiful in its own way, there’s something ghastly about it. As a memory catches up to her, Felicity shivers, glad they only have to skirt the edges of it. Even now she can see the Spires—remnants of a Kaiju’s ribcage that rise taller than the surrounding skyscrapers—as they grow closer, still with that otherworldly, bluish glow. The pavement is cracked beneath them, riddled with holes as the buildings begin to squish together.

Every time she comes here, Felicity can still imagine Scissure charging through this path of the city. All those feelings come rushing back—hopelessness, terror, desperation. She had just stepped out of the lab for air after yet another person died in solo-Drift. At the time, she had been on the Drift team because they promised to pay for her tuition. Her life had revolved around earning that PhD in Biomedical Engineering.

If only life was so simple.

That was the day everything changed for her. When Scissure attacked the city, there had been mass panic. She was nearly trampled in the streets, pushing _into_ the beast’s path, knowing her mother was only a few blocks away. A broken leg finally stopped her, and she remembers the hulking Kaiju—though small by standards; just a Category I—staring down at her.

Scissure had let loose a primal scream that shot down her spine, before finally turning North to continue ravaging the city. It could have killed her, but it didn’t. Ever since, Felicity has felt she’s living on borrowed time; she must have been spared for a reason. She’s been all too happy to fulfill that purpose, doing everything she can to stop anyone else from feeling helpless in the face of a Kaiju ever again.

The Kaiju spared her, and now she’s become the architect of their demise.

“Felicity?” Oliver calls. With his tone and a single word, he can create an entire sentence. His approach may be gentle, but behind it is an interrogation.

“I’m okay,” Felicity assures him. God only knows what’s been bleeding through the Ghost in the last few minutes. “Just… _things_.” She taps her helmet against his shoulder. “Up here.”

“The first attack,” Oliver concludes knowingly. “You must have been, what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” Felicity corrects. “That was April, and I turned fifteen in June. I was so confident then, but…” She sighs. “Well, you know what happened. You saw it in the Drift. One man died trying to solo-pilot, but then Scissure struck. Most of the scientists on my team were killed in the attack.”

Quietly, she adds, “I never knew the names of the solo-pilots, you know. They were just faces.” Faces she’d love to forget, even though she knows it’s best if she remembers. “The man that died that day… he was number twenty-three for me. The very last one. After that, I started attempting dual-pilot systems. No one else died for the sake of my science.”

As he slows to navigate the narrow street, Oliver’s hand drops on her knee. It sends strange, though not unpleasant, sensations running up her spine. Felicity places her hand over his, suddenly glad for the Ghost between them. When it would be easy to let herself wallow in past mistakes, she has Oliver’s warmth and understanding to pull her back.

She hopes she’s as helpful to him.

When they reach the parking garage of her mother’s building, Felicity frowns. She’s never told him which of the three complexes on this block she lived in. He’s been paying attention in their Drifts.

Felicity removes her helmet after hopping off, eyebrows narrowing when she finds Oliver doing the same. As he trades the helmet for her duffel, he answers her silent question with another: “Would you let me walk you to the door?”

While still overprotective, Felicity is pleased to find he isn’t also _overbearing_ this time. He’s asking now, and she’s willing to allow it. “Of course.” In a sarcastic tone, she adds, “Who knows what horrors could befall me in the short walk to my mom’s apartment?”

An errant strand of pink hair falls out of her ponytail, but Oliver pushes it out of her face, his touch too gentle for someone who has grown up fighting a war. “Maybe I’m just not ready to say goodbye,” he replies. His tone may be playful, but his eyes are far too intense. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you for three days.”

She nudges his shoulder before taking her bag, throwing it over her arm. “Enjoy your sister’s company,” she answers. “Watch a movie or two, teach her how to fight with a staff for her combat trials.” Felicity scavenges through her bag, hoping she still has what she’s looking for. They’re rare, but… “And you can also…” There it is.

Grinning, she pulls the ink pen out of her bag, checking the barrel. Good; it still has some ink left in it. Sliding in front of him with his back to her, Felicity takes his hand, slipping it around her and pushing back the sleeve of her jacket. On his forearm, Felicity writes a seven-digit number, then a set of three numbers. “That’s my personal comm number,” she tells him, tucking the pen in her ahir and pulling down his sleeve. “If you need to talk—day or night—give me a call.”

“I don’t have access to a comm, Felicity,” Oliver points out.

From her pocket, she pulls out her ID card. He shoves it into his jeans without any explanation. “J-Tech has the best system for outside calls.” Winking, she adds, “I know—I designed it.” He laughs. “You can call me from there. My ID card will get you in. McKenna is on guard duty at night, but she won’t care since it’s you.” She pats his cheek. “You are my better half, after all.”

It takes her only a heartbeat to realize that makes them sound like they’re married, and every fiber of her being screams _abort_. “And by ‘my better half,’” she continues frantically, an octave higher than normal, “what I really mean is, ‘my better half of a three-hundred-foot robot.’ Because you’re my Drift partner. I wasn’t trying to say anything else.” His pause is agonizingly long, and more words tumble out of their own accord: “Because it sounded like I was saying something else.”

At the same time, he teases, “It sounded like you were saying something else.”

“Don’t start with me, Queen,” is her response, rolling her eyes. She turns and walks away before the heat in her cheeks grows too strong. He’ll find out about it later, but at least it won’t be until their next Drift.

Next Drift. That’s a nice thought.

Oliver catches up to her easily, with just a few long strides. Just when Oliver starts to feel too far away, he slips his fingers through hers. Both of them sigh at once, which leads to a shared smile. Something about contact makes their connection feel a little stronger. At times like this, it almost feels tangible.

The rest of their trip up the rickety, metal staircase together. Felicity half expects Oliver to turn and walk away at any minute. Their worlds are so different; he grew up in a mansion with all the finest things, and she grew up in a crumbling apartment with a broken family. Her life probably looks like a disaster to Oliver, but he never says anything about it.

When she cuts a glance at him, he doesn’t seem to be deterred. Instead, he seems to studying his surroundings with rapt attention, as though _her_ life was the exorbitant one. Maybe there were things missing in Oliver’s world, too.

Felicity stops in front of the door to her mother’s apartment, turning to him. “Thanks for bringing me here,” she says, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “I appreciate the ride.” She glances out in the distance; not many people would be brave enough to take her into the Glades.

“If you need a ride back on Sunday,” he offers with a soft smile, “I can always pick you up.”

“Saturday,” Felicity corrects. Once corner of her mouth tilts up. “You were right about that—I can’t spend too long away from the Shatterdome without going crazy.”

He offers her a knowing smile, but before he can speak, the door opens. Donna Smoak appears in the doorway, a wide smile on her face. “Hi, honey! Welcome home!” After Felicity slips her bag inside, she finds herself enveloped in a massive hug.

When Donna releases her, she continues, “And Oliver! It’s so nice to see you again!” She makes a move toward him, but she remembers not to hug him this time; Felicity talked to her about that. Instead, Donna just pats his arm. “Would you like to stay for dinner, sweetie?”

Though his smile is more reserved now, it at least seems genuine. “Thank you, but I need to get back to the Shatterdome. My sister is expecting me,” he explains. Oliver shoves his hands into his pockets as he turns to Felicity. “Want me to pick you up around four on Saturday?”

She throws him a look. “Only if you want to,” she allows.

“I want to,” Oliver assures her, without missing a beat. He stares down at his shoes as he shifts his weight. “Maybe you could show me a good place to eat here before we head back?” he suggests.

Felicity gapes for several moments before finally blurting, “Are you asking me to dinner?”

Oliver laughs, but his face turns the slightest shade of pink. “I guess I am,” he admits to her shoes. “But I’d like to share a meal with my Drift partner that hasn’t been rehydrated from a foil pack.”

With a grin, Felicity replies, “How could I say no to you?”

He snorts. “I’ve never noticed you having trouble with that,” he remarks. Oliver places a hand on her shoulder, just moments before pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll see you Saturday.” With that, he leaves.

Too stunned to move, Felicity can only watch him go.

“That boy is _crazy_ about you,” Donna declares, making Felicity jump. “And he’s a good one, honey—no matter what anyone says. I’d keep him around.”

Rolling her eyes at her mother’s revelation, Felicity pushes through the doorway. “He’s the best,” she agrees, “but he’s my Drift partner, Mom. It’s not like that.” Hell, her mother even _suggesting_ that gives her preemptive embarrassment; Oliver will hear this conversation eventually.

Donna just throws her that knowing smile. “Whatever you say, honey.”


End file.
